by A. Zavarelli
“Because I knew you were hiding something to do with Brayden,” I explained. “I talked to him after you’d seen him in Chicago. And I thought… I didn’t want to believe you’d do that to me again. But I really started to think…”
I couldn’t say the words because it was too devastating to even consider. Ryland sighed and pulled me closer.
“You’d have every right to think that,” he said solemnly. “But I need you to know that’s never going to happen, Brighton. I need you to trust me.”
“I know.” I nuzzled against his neck. “But why didn’t you tell me you were keeping tabs on him?”
“Because I didn’t want you to worry,” he said. “I didn’t want you to have any more unnecessary stress.”
“Well that isn’t your call to make,” I protested. “Not when it comes to my family, Ryland. I need to know what’s going on. Even if I might not like it.”
“C’mon.” He lifted me up and carried me to the couch, setting me down so that my head was in his lap. “I’ll tell you what you want to know, but you have to promise not to get upset. It isn’t good for the baby, and I need you to trust that I’ve got the situation under control.”
“Okay.” I nodded.
Ryland stroked his fingers through my hair, massaging my scalp as he spoke. He was staring at the wall, and I could see a hint of that old familiar hatred in his eyes when he started to explain.
“There are things I haven’t told you,” he said. “Things I didn’t ever want to tell you. But you’re my wife, and I don’t want secrets between us.”
“Me either,” I agreed. “I want to know everything about you, Ryland. The good and the bad. Whatever it is, it’s in the past.”
He paused to let his eyes wander over my face, and I knew at that moment he still saw me as his pure and unsullied salvation. He didn’t want to taint that, and yet he continued anyway.
“I wanted to kill Frankie,” he deadpanned. “But by the time I left the hospital and figured out who killed my family, Alfredo had already taken care of him. He wasn’t at all pleased with the gigantic mess Frankie had made of that situation.”
“I imagine not.” I closed my eyes and breathed through the pain in my chest. As much as I hated Brayden’s decisions, I was grateful for them. Because if he hadn’t been with Frankie that night, Ryland wouldn’t be with me today. It was a catch twenty-two.
“It was all I thought of while I recovered,” Ryland continued. “So you can imagine my disappointment when it was taken from me before I even had a chance. Frankie deserved to die, but it should have been me to do it.”
I wasn’t going to argue with him because that was still his grief talking. It was clear as day in his voice, and I wondered if it would ever lessen over time. Frankie did deserve what he got, but Ryland wasn’t a murderer, as much as he told himself he could be. He was nothing like Frankie.
“A few more months passed, and I felt… lost. I was twenty-four years old, and I had everything. And then one day it was just fucking gone. My dad was still around, but his guilt ate him alive. I couldn’t look him in the eye anymore- I’d lost all respect for him. He was cowering in fear, trying to keep them from getting to me. He was so afraid they would, so I told him to let them come. It made no difference to me.”
More tears squeezed from my eyes, and I buried my face in Ryland’s thigh. I didn’t want him to see how much it hurt to hear this. How much my heart ached for him.
“The next week, he was gone too. He’d sold the house in Chicago and everything else he could to pay them off and leave me an inheritance. And then he ate the barrel of a gun as penance.”
“I’m so sorry, Ryland.”
“I didn’t feel anything when he died,” he said. “I placed sole responsibility for what happened on his shoulders, and he knew it. Perhaps I should have regretted that, but I didn’t. Still don’t, in fact. He was weak. A coward. And I refused to be like him. I refused to forget what happened to my family and who was at fault. That night played through my mind on repeat, Brighton. And there was only one face that I could see. One place for that rage to go.”
He didn’t have to tell me. I already knew it was Brayden. My family. We were guilty by association, just like his family had been. A cruel sort of justice to fit the crime. But there was someone else too. A man at the top of the food chain that I hadn’t given much thought to before. Now that Ryland was talking about it, I had to wonder how he fit into this puzzle.
“What about Frankie’s boss?” I asked. “What about Alfredo?”
“I was well aware that Alfredo gave the order,” he said. “But he was untouchable for someone like me. I was nothing back then, and to him, I was a loose end. Men like Alfredo- they don’t like loose ends. So he was amused as hell when I walked right into his den. It was a big risk. He could have killed me without a second thought, and we both knew it. Instead, I made him a proposition that day.”
“What kind of proposition?” I asked nervously.
“He wanted you and Brayden dead,” he replied in a rough voice. “I asked him to hold off in exchange for some heavy compensation. For seven years- enough time to do what was necessary. To get the resources I needed and to make my plan work.”
His words felt like a lead weight on my chest, and Ryland pulled me up into his arms and stared into my eyes. “I didn’t know you back then,” he said. “I’d never even met you when I made that agreement. I wasn’t thinking straight, Brighton.”
“So he’s going to come after me and Brayden,” I swallowed. “It’s true then.”
“I’m working it out with him.” He clasped my face in his hands and pleaded for me to believe him. “I will never let anything harm you, baby girl.”
“But what about Brayden?” I swallowed. “He’s there. He’s right in the middle of it. Does he know?”
Ryland looked away, his jaw clenching. “I tried to tell him. He doesn’t want to fucking listen. He thinks he can talk Alfredo out of it. That he can go to work with him.”
“What the hell is wrong with him?” I asked.
Ryland didn’t answer, and I was grateful. I knew he hated Brayden, and this was only going to make it worse. But I believed him when he said he was trying to do the right thing.
“I don’t understand how he came to be this way,” I said. “He isn’t the brother that I knew. He isn’t the one I grew up with. I don’t know why he’s trying to follow in Frankie’s footsteps.”
Ryland stroked my back and smoothed my hair away from my face, searching my eyes before he spoke again. “I’m going to protect you, Brighton. No matter what. But there isn’t anything else I can do for Brayden. Not when he’s willingly walking right into the middle of it.”
His words cut me, but it wasn’t his fault. He was right. The same thing I’d learned with Norma. You could only help those who wanted to help themselves.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ryland
Brighton was curiously quiet as she moped around our bedroom getting ready. This was supposed to be a good day for her. A day when I took her to see the crème de la crème of the bay’s real estate market and told her to take her pick. Anything you want baby, it’s yours. Whatever enthusiasm I’d predicted was swiftly eclipsed by worry.
It was that fucknut Brayden and his dense as shit brain.
He’d gotten to Alfredo, and remarkably, was still breathing- for now. But I didn’t trust that slimy tick for one second. I had an inclination to throw some more money at the problem. Knowing how Alfredo’s brain worked, he’d take that as an insult. We had a deal, he’d say. The same offhand utterance he probably told my father right before our entire family was slaughtered.
Something needed to be done.
There was still, unofficially, another year on the clock. A year for me to figure out the best angle in which to approach this matter. The most important move I’d ever make. I needed to be methodical and precise in my planning and execution.
While common sense dictated I should ta
ke my time and be reasonable, I had a pressing need to quash the threat now. Being hasty could wind up getting us all killed. While Alfredo wasn’t actually connected, he was dangerous enough. He had a small army of loyal henchmen and rarely ventured anywhere with no less than six of them.
There was a time when I’d considered taking him on myself. That was until I saw his operation. I wouldn’t make it past the first wave of his crew, realistically. So I’d done what any man in my position would do. I compiled.
Years, I’d had eyes on him. Waiting for him to slip up. To nail him with something that’d actually cut the mustard in the half-baked justice system. But Alfredo was a shrewd one. I had a lot of shit on his men, but nothing on the golden goose himself.
It was irritating as fuck.
Sand slipped through the hourglass, day after day, turning up nothing of significance. It wasn’t until the charity gala that I’d started to follow the breadcrumbs in my head. Alex Burton could’ve said just about anything to ruffle my feathers, but he’d specifically chosen the word loyalty. It rung my alarm, and the threat was clear. He was involved in this somehow. I didn’t know what his angle was, but I’d stake my fortune that he was in bed with Alfredo on this deal. His crew lived by the code. The only law in their circle. And in an unfortunate twist of fate, Alfredo was indisputably loyal to Robert Burton, which also encompassed Alex by default.
Robert and Alex were always cooking up some dubious plot in their smarmy brains. A scheme that undoubtedly put Brighton right in their crosshairs. Just like her blood relation to Frankie had put her in mine.
The grimness of my choices and consequences weighed heavily on my mind. Remorse had a strangle hold on me. But it wouldn’t do me a lick of good to roll over and admit defeat just yet. Like me, Alfredo had a weakness. So did Alex, and so did Robert. I would find it, and I would use it against them if I must.
I would do this because I loved her. And love motivated me perhaps even more so than hatred ever had.
“Come here, baby.” I pulled Brighton into me and kissed her bare shoulder.
She tasted like sunshine, and I couldn’t fucking breathe without her near. She was soft and unblemished and pure as the driven snow. I’d never let anyone darken her life again.
“I’m sorry.” She leaned her head back against my chest and sighed. “I’m not trying to be a Debbie Downer.”
“Should we reschedule for another day?” I asked. “I want this to be a good memory for you. No bad thoughts hanging over us while we pick out our home.”
Her shoulders slumped in relief at my suggestion, and though I was disappointed, the offer was genuine.
“You wouldn’t be mad?” she pressed. “I feel so bad. I just can’t stop thinking about Brayden. He won’t return my calls. He hasn’t talked to Norma either.”
Norma. That was another issue I had yet to deal with. I saw an opportunity to take Brighton’s mind off the situation, and I seized it.
“You know she’s leaving the program in two weeks.”
“I know,” she croaked. “I’m really nervous. She seems like she’s doing so well. I don’t want to get my hopes up, but at the same time I hope it lasts.”
“I think she’ll do fine,” I assured her. “She didn’t have any issues during the three days she was down in Florida.”
“True,” she conceded. “But this is Norma. She’s never been great at follow through.”
“Well, once we get a house, how do you feel about giving her the apartment? Then you can keep an eye on her.”
Brighton spun in my arms and blinked up at me with complete adoration. Her eyes were large and child-like, glassy with unshed tears.
“You would do that for her?”
“I’d do it for you,” I insisted. “And it’s probably best she doesn’t go back to Illinois.”
Her arms came around my waist and squeezed.
“God, I love you.”
My heart stuttered violently to life in my chest- like a car that had been left sitting too long. It always did when she said those words. I still found myself in a state of disbelief that she meant them half the time, but Brighton would never lie. She was too good for that.
Pushing her hair back over her shoulders, I kissed her tenderly, infusing myself with her essence. It always felt like I was stealing something from her whenever I did this, but she gave it so willingly. A tiny mew stole from her lips when she felt my heat against her belly, and she rubbed against me like a greedy little kitten.
“I need you,” she begged.
My resulting groan was buried in the thickness of her hair as I groped around for her tits. Subsequently, I found the softness of her throat with my lips and chased the familiar urge of exerting my dominance. I needed to mark her. Claim her. Prove she was mine in every way.
I walked her backwards until her legs hit the bed and eased her back. Then I just took a minute to let my eyes roam over her. She was so goddamn lovely, spread out like an offering against the black silk of the bed sheets. In a white bra and panties, no less. Her tits were ripe for the picking as they rose and fell in exaggerated breaths. She panted and whimpered, desperately swollen with my baby and a ferocious appetite for my cock.
I wanted to devour her.
Kneeling before her, I worshipped her body like the goddess she was. Mapping out her contours, my hands roved reverently about her breasts, her ribs, her stomach. So many things I wanted to do with her. Some items on the agenda would have to wait. Rough and tumble games I’d stow away for a rainy day. A day when the baby was already here, and I knew my dirty deeds wouldn’t cause harm. Perhaps while we worked on baby number two then?
I smothered my face against her panties and inhaled like a junkie. Fucking Christ, her scent. I’d try to put it into words, but they wouldn’t do it justice. You’d just have to take my word that it couldn’t be beaten. Already damp, the thin cotton material stuck to her skin, and I pressed my fingers against it to soak it further. Always wet for me, my little lotus flower. Ah, the things she did to me.
The animal in me stirred, and my teeth tugged on the elastic waistband. Apparently, it wasn’t hasty enough for my little fiend. Her hips arched up, and her fingers slid through my hair and tugged.
“Please, Ryland.”
Two distinct urges warred inside of me. I wanted to spank the shit out of her and put her in her place, but I also wanted to listen to her beg while she grinded on my face. Hm, quandaries, quandaries.
I settled on slipping the panties down her thighs and tossing them to the floor before diving in. Lapping at her arousal with raucous slurping noises, she rewarded me with more. Her pussy soaked my lips and face as I fucked her unabashedly with my tongue. It wasn’t a chore with Brighton. It was an insatiable need. A fix all its own to experience her this way. I tried to tell her as much, but my words were muffled by her squeezing her thighs around my head. My little pet was being greedy again.
I nipped at her clit in warning, and she gasped. She shot me her best pouty eyes, and I grinned up at her.
“You’ll get it when you get it,” I chastised her. “Or not at all if you keep pushing it.”
She whined, and I went back to work, finger fucking her pussy the way the dirty little hellion liked. I coveted every gasp and mewl she made, committing them all to memory. Her tits bounced when she jerked around the bed, her head shaking violently from side to side on the pillow as she muttered incoherent nonsense. One might in fact wonder if I was performing an exorcism. Heh.
So well I knew her body, her needs. I squeezed the fleshy part of her ass in my hands and tilted her pelvis just so. My fingers hooked inside of her, and she sobbed and lurched forward at the same time.
Her muscles tautened and contracted as she arced up off the bed, gripping the sheets in her fists. It was coming, and it was going to be a tidal wave. I buried my face between her legs and let it wash over me, soaking up everything she had to give. My name echoed off the walls of our bedroom, and I took a primitive satisfaction in the
raw intoxication of her voice.
For a long while, I didn’t move, reveling in the sight of her coming down from a violent orgasm as she fought for breath. Her hair tangled around her face, and a sheen of sweat glistened across her brow. I had a notion to lick it off of her, but that would require breaking my reverent stare. It was always a war with me, between the watching and the doing. I was fond of drawing it out. Making it as painstakingly slow as I could.
“Oh, God,” she moaned. “You’re going to kill me.”
“Death by orgasm sounds like the way to go.”
My quip was funny for all of two seconds before reality crept back in. I didn’t want to joke about losing her. Ever.
Standing up, I discarded my clothes while Brighton watched with heavy lids. Her eyes roamed over my body while she bit her lip to hide a smile. Those eyes were the loudest thing about her. Volumes of emotions lived inside them, and right now they betrayed her hunger.
“Like what you see, baby girl?” I teased.
“You’re such a cocky bastard,” she giggled.
I shrugged. “I’m your cocky bastard.”
Taking my place on the bed, I relaxed against the headboard, cock standing at attention between my legs.
“Come up here,” I ordered. “I want to watch you ride me.”
“You mean you want to have access to my huge boobs so you can play with them the entire time,” she retorted.
Again, I shrugged. No need to play coy.
Brighton wiggled her way towards me, stretching her legs on opposite sides of my hips before planting her ass in my lap. Her hands used my shoulders as a springboard as she rubbed herself against my cock. A groan escaped in spite of my feigned composure.
“Somebody’s being greedy,” she threw the words back at me as she slid along my length, teasing but not quite letting me inside.
It was of little consequence to me. I leaned back and stretched my hands behind my head to enjoy the show. I could watch this all fucking day.
Brighton threw her head back in laughter, taunting me with the creamy skin along her throat. Lusting for a taste of it, I bobbed forward and captured her around the waist, flicking my tongue against her pulse. That pulse beat for me. Without that pulse, I was nothing.
